


A La Carte

by Vulgarweed



Series: His Infinite Variety [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale Is a Greedy Little Hedonist, Competition, Crowley has a penis, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Historical, M/M, Other, Penis In Vagina Sex, Vaginal Fingering, aziraphale has a penis, mention of sex work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 10:49:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20113879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulgarweed/pseuds/Vulgarweed
Summary: When Aziraphale shows up for one of their information-exchange trysts packing something unexpected, Crowley's competitive streak is aroused (as is everything else about Crowley). 666-word fic, will become a series that will get weirder and weirder.





	A La Carte

**Author's Note:**

> Overall series prologue:
> 
> This story begins, as it will end, with a cunt.
> 
> **London, 1735**

Anyone watching would’ve seen a gentleman of the world, chimping merry on pungent strip-me-naked, negotiating an alley exchange of goods and services with a person-shaped-being of the evening.

They’d have had a small part of the story right.

“Hogarth isn’t ours,” Crowley murmured, tempting Aziraphale to pin him against the wall.

“Good to know,” Aziraphale said, rummaging around haplessly under Crowley’s voluminous skirts. He found a cock eventually and latched on. Crowley’s bosom heaved appreciatively in his bodice that was designed to rip easily. (His secret: anachronistic Velcro) “The Serpentine, really?”

“Couldn’t resist,” Crowley said, going on the counterattack over Aziraphale’s satin breeches. His hand found its hardening cylindrical mark and a few firm strokes had his friendly adversary shaking in his stockings - but sauntering vaguely downward, Crowley’s fingertips encountered a growing damp spot where he didn’t expect it.

“Shouldn’t you pick one set or the other?”

“There’s no rule as far as I know,” Aziraphale said.

“This deserves better than a quickie in the gutter,” Crowley insinuated, slipping a finger in between buttons. “You made such a pretty little quim for me, don’t you want thingssss done to it?”

“I thought it might be less mess,” Aziraphale lied.

“Not if you treat it right,” Crowley managed to hiss without sibilants. Dropping his skirts over the cockstand that tented them, he led Aziraphale to the molly-house where he kept a room for hourly use. The building was old and listing, and the bed that Crowley threw Aziraphale onto was quaint in its medieval solidness. Its sturdiness was about to be tested. 

Skirts duly hoisted, bodice duly ripped, and breeches duly on the floor, Crowley and Aziraphale went at each other. Crowley attacked Aziraphale’s cock first, licking long hot stripes up the shaft before sucking the thick head deep into his mouth. One hand kept it upright and the other went to his slick, hungry cunt. Aziraphale writhed at the double stimulation, enveloped in wet heat with the one item and penetrated by dancing fingers with the other.

“I - understand - this model can peak - many times?” he asked coyly as Crowley pulled out wet fingers to circle his clit.

“Oh yess,” Crowley said, slurping at Aziraphale’s cockhead. “Here, keep this one hard though, I’m going to want a good ploughing when I’m done with that juicy little cunny of yours. The gin’s all gone and I’m thirsty.” He left Aziraphale’s cock in their interlocked hands and lowered his head, pausing to lick at Aziraphale’s bollocks - which then rested weirdly on his forehead as he thrust his long forked tongue deep into the angel’s slick two-leafed book. Aziraphale’s sweetly musky nectar soaked his thighs and most of Crowley’s face as he ground shamelessly against the lapping, wriggling intrusion. When Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s clit and sucked, the angel arched off the bed and nearly smothered him with his thighs, his cock spurting enough to drip down into Crowley’s hair. 

“Oh, you’ll be sorry for that,” Crowley growled as he shoved his fingers in hard.

“I doubt it,” Aziraphale said. “Unless you refuse to fuck me.”

“Beyond _my_ willpower,” Crowley admitted as he let himself be angelhandled into position. He slid into creamy velvet wetness that gripped him, and he cried out as Aziraphale’s cock jumped against his belly, smearing his spend between them.

“You know...next time,” he panted between desperate thrusts. “If someone had a cunt _over_ the cock...we might be able to fuck _each other.”_

Aziraphale was preoccupied with grabbing Crowley’s arse, working slickened fingertips into his hole, but it sounded like he approved of this idea. Aziraphale took his fourth crisis and Crowley his first, but three times.

When they pulled apart reluctantly and helped each other into presentable states, Crowley whispered, “Dagon’s planned something by water. Cholera, maybe, or fish-people. Never can tell with them.”

“Uriel’s raising religious fervour in the Colonies.”

“Enough about that. Wait til you see what I’ll bring for you next time,” Crowley said, smiling like a snake.

“Impress me.”


End file.
